


Unexpected Drunken Hook-ups Of the Third Kind

by Diana_Prallon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drunk Sex, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Prallon/pseuds/Diana_Prallon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up — still drunk and naked — was also something Gwaine had long since grown used to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Drunken Hook-ups Of the Third Kind

Waking up — still drunk from the previous night — is something Gwaine has long since become used to. Not that he drinks that much that often (he swears he doesn’t), but last night it _had been_ the Pendragon Inc. Holiday Party, and if there was something that it was always sure to happen, was that there would be plenty of drinking to be had. He and Morgana, the head of PR, the CEO’s beloved daughter and unashamed harpy, may not see eye to eye on many things, but _this_ was not one of them.

 

Even through the headache and the pain in his body, he might need to thank her for it.

 

Gwaine felt cold, though, as he came back to the land of the living. Feeling cold was the worst.

 

A quick peek at himself made him notice he was naked.

 

 

That explained the cold.

 

Waking up — still drunk and naked — was also something Gwaine had long since grown used to. It isn’t that he sleeps around a lot (he swears he doesn’t), but it was _not_ unheard of in any way. He could only hope he hadn’t pulled off someone so hideous — or annoying — that he would have time to regret it before he even managed to get himself to the bathroom to pee.

 

He turned around, slowly, almost afraid of what he was going to see.

 

What he _did_ see startled him so badly, he fell from his end of the bed with a loud thump, which only made the person next to him wake up too.

 

There was no better way to start the day: still drunk, his balls freezing and his bum hurting from a fall while his best friend peeked carefully from over the bed.

 

“Are you alright?” Percy asked, his face frowning — if from their state of just the light, Gwaine didn’t know.

 

“Still drunk,” Gwaine confessed, sitting up and shrugging. It made Percy look somewhat pained. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling much better.

 

“Ah — yes. I tried to ask you where there was paracetamol, but you weren’t… Well, let’s say you got creative with the puns one can make about it.”

 

Percy blushed while saying this, and Gwaine was left feeling mortified. He and Percy had been best friends for years, close for years, and if he _had_ said something that still managed to make him _blush_ , it must have been bad. Very bad.

 

Besides, you know, the whole naked thing.

 

This was _not_ how he had expected — wanted, dreamed — that it would happen.

 

“Sorry about that,” he muttered, getting up. “I’ll get us some.”

 

Gwaine was a man that had always been comfortable with himself — with his body, with his looks. It was one of those things that made him, well, _him_. Still, now, he felt ashamed of his nakedness as Percy pulled up the sheets around himself carefully, looking around for his clothing. He had always known how tiny and scrawny he looked next to Percy, and it wasn’t _that_ which made him bothered, but the way Percy seemed to be uncomfortable with it all. He padded to the bathroom as quickly as he could, picking up the paracetamol and his robes at once. One of his socks was there, too, though there was no clue to where the other might be.

 

He brought the pills back to the bedroom, carefully not eyeing his friend as he put them down.

 

“I’m gonna get some water,” he said, needlessly, before leaving again.

 

As Gwaine walked to the kitchen, there was nothing for him to do but hope he hadn’t ruined everything — not only his chances, because as little as he wanted to admit it, he wanted _far more_ from Percy than some ill-advised sex — but also their friendship. He could never forgive himself if they grew apart because of it. With a sigh, he picked up two mugs, checking to see if they were properly cleaned before opening the tap to put some water on it. He looked around, trying to find something to do — trying to give Percy some time by himself, to make himself comfortable and dress if he wanted to — and decided to pick up his kettle and get some water boiling for coffee. Or tea, Percy favoured tea in the morning.

 

A sniff was enough for him to notice it was a bit _too dirty_ , but for one, Gwaine wasn’t annoyed that he would need to wash it. Time was good.

 

The water was freezing, which he _did_ hate, but it was a good wake up call. He picked up the sponge, rubbing the kettle for a moment, while his head tried to figure out how exactly they had ended up there.

 

There had been punch, he was sure. Plenty of it, and spiked, of course, because this was how Morgana rolled. He remembered drinking, he remembered dancing, he remembered Merlin drunk off his face and claiming he luuuuuurrrved Arthur, flailing and holding on his husband’s lapel, much to the blond’s chagrin. He remembered thinking that Percy looked specially good in the dark blue suit he was wearing, a light stubble covering his face, and his face opened up in laughter as their friend made a fool out of himself.

 

He _didn_ _’t_ remember making a move, though he had long wanted to.

 

He _didn_ _’t_ regret it, either way, but if Percy did… If he did, well, Gwaine would have to live with it.

 

Gwaine made quick work of rinsing the kettle, and poured the water inside, turning on his stove and leaving it to boil. He double check to see if there was tea — and, yes, the one Percy had brought the last time was still there, though he was almost running out of coffee and there was no milk. Well, it was better than nothing.

 

He came back to the bedroom, the two mugs in his hand, to find Percy completely dress and sitting down on the bed, his head between his hands, looking down.

 

“Here you are,” he said, offering the mug and Percy looked up, his face clearly miserable, before he picked up the mug carefully.

 

If it broke Gwaine’s heart into pieces, no one needed to know.

 

He looked away quickly, picking up one of the pills and taking it with a gulp of water. His mouth tasted like something had died in it, but this, too, was not unusual.

 

“I’m sorry,” they both said, at once, after they had taken their paracetamol, and they stared at each other, blinking.

 

Gwaine wanted to laugh — bitterly, because _this_ was them, they were so in tune that they’d speak at once, and now it seemed to be about to break down forever. He didn’t, though, not wanting to add to the pain of the moment, as Percy blinked at him.

 

“What are you even sorry for?”

 

Gwaine shrugged, because, he didn’t really need to explain it, did he? _This_ was the worse of his personality, the ability to just… Make those things happen, without a care in the world, without thinking of the consequences, lust fogging his brain — and alcohol, too, sometimes. He knew himself well enough to know what sort of a flirt machine he could become — no, he was, always, and even worse when drinking. It was one of the things that made Percy perfect that he wouldn’t want to make him feel worse for it now.

 

“For everything,” he answered, finally, not wanting to hide from the knowledge of what he had done. “Seducing you, I suppose.”

 

Percy laughed at this, honestly laughed, and it wasn’t a sound of someone who found it hilarious, it was the sound of something being torn apart — their friendship. It wasn’t the sound of forgiveness, but if it _was_ the case, Gwaine had no one else to blame.

 

“You think you seduced me?!” Percy shook his head, smiling. “You don’t even remember it, do you?”

 

“No,” he agreed, “but I can gather what must have happened — the punch…”

 

“I should have noticed you were too drunk,” Percy muttered, shaking his head. “Too drunk to even — or you’d never had kissed me back, I should have noticed…”

 

It took a moment for Percy’s words to filter into his brain, and it startled Gwaine more than anything else.

 

“Kiss you _back_?” he echoed, and Percy’s face was in flames.

 

“Like I said, I’m sorry,” he continued, looking down. “I was plastered myself, and I just — I just couldn’t control it, and then one thing led to another and…”

 

Gwaine could only stare and blink, because it made no sense.

 

Percy had kissed _him_.

 

 _Percy_ had kissed him.

 

Percy had _kissed_ him.

 

And just then, his brain was ready to understand the rest of it.

 

“You couldn’t control yourself?” Percy hadn’t been able to _control_ himself — when he was known as someone always in command of his own desires. He had… He had _wanted_ it. Wanted it _badly_ enough to lose his famous self-control.

 

“I’m sorry,” Percy muttered again, still not looking at him. “I shouldn’t have…”

 

“Why the hell not?!” Gwaine asked, because, they may have been best friends for years, but they had always been as different as water and oil, or something else, something that complimented each other. Percy had believed in restrain, and Gwaine had never had any, which was exactly why Gwaine had jumped to conclusions that seemed to have nothing to do with what had actually happened.

 

Percy’s eyes were red and shot when he looked up, his face a mask of shame and hurt.

 

“Because you didn’t _want_ it — not _me,_ at least — you were just… Drunk and horny, and I should have known better than…” he shook his head. “This is _not_ the man I thought I was — not the man I wanted to be.”

 

Gwaine could just shake his head again because _this_ , right there, was more than _proof_ that Percy was _exactly_ the man he had always wanted to be, more than the man Gwaine could ever hope to be, because he’d never be that effortlessly good and moral and just _right_ like Percy was. It was absolutely characteristic of Percy, though, that he had no idea about it.

 

 

“I didn’t _want it_?” Gwaine repeated, almost dumbfounded by such a ridiculous declaration. “Percy, are you even — when have I _ever_ done anything I _didn_ _’t want to_ just because I was drunk?”

 

His hands were on his hips now, because he was _not_ going to let Percy wallow in guilt when it made no sense, not when _this_ was supposed to be a _happy moment_ where things he had barely allowed himself to dream of where coming true. Sort of.

 

 

“I’m bigger, and stronger, and…”

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a Hercules, we all know it,” Gwaine dismissed it with his hand, annoyed. “But if _anyone_ wouldn’t have done _this,_ _”_ he gestured between them before continuing, “without being drunk, it would be _you_ , not _me_.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Percy asked, and Gwaine not _had_ to laugh, self-deprecating as it was.

 

“Because I am _me_ ,” Gwaine reminded him. “The clown, the drunk man, the shameless flirt who you keep on nagging to reform, the one to be never taken seriously and never, ever, bedded because I’m _such a mess,_ and only someone lacking neurons would decide that sleeping with me was a good idea.”

 

Percy frowned at this, seeming to have a hard time understanding his words, and it was incredible to Gwaine how two people with so much in common, so much shared history, could suddenly have such a hard time communicating after one slip.

 

“Anyone would be luck to have you,” Percy replied, eventually, seeming sad he needed to even say it, and Gwaine could only snort, because he was not deaf to the sort of comments that ran around his back. “I mean it — you… You bring _life_ to every place you go, Gwaine. You’re so… _You_ , and I should have kept whatever… I feel in check, because you are… ” Percy shook his head, seeming not to know what to say. “And I’m just boring.”

 

“Boring?” Gwaine echoed, stupefied. “Percy, there’s nothing _boring_ about you — I mean… I’ve _always_ … I’ve _wanted you_ for ages…”

 

“It’s the arms,” Percy dismissed, shaking his head. “You’ve always had a thing with arms.”

 

Gwaine laughed, because, _yes_ , Percy’s arms were a whole category of their own, but this was _not_ it, not the reason, and for the first time since he had woken up, he felt comfortable and sure enough to step closer.

 

“No — well, _yes_ , I have always had a thing with arms, and your arms more than most, but this is _the least_ of it,” which, looking again at the arms, was saying a lot, because they were a thing of beauty, a perfect… And it was not the time for it. “I’ve been in love with _you_ for _years_ and it had nothing to do with… Arms. Well, almost nothing.”

 

Percy gaped at him, and Gwaine used the opportunity to hold the sitting man’s head and plant a kiss on his mouth.

 

It wasn’t the best kiss he ever had — and they had terrible breath — but it was _wonderful_ either way because it was Percy, and he was kissing back, and there was nothing that would make him stop but the whistle of the kettle he had left outside.

 

“Did you leave the stove on?” Percy asked, parting from him, “If you don’t turn it off, the water will evaporate…”

 

But Gwaine couldn’t be bothered with it, not now, he just leaned back in looking for Percy’s kissing bruised lips.

 

“Let it go,” he said, and he kissed Percy again.

 

By the time they stopped kissing for long enough to check it, the water was long gone, and the kettle’s bottom was pitch black, but neither could bring themselves to care.

 

Gwaine might _really_ need to thank Morgana for the party, and she would be _insufferable_ about it.

 

(Still, worth it.)

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
